


courage

by rebelblake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, no gross ark people, no pike bc eW, season 1 setting, um im bad at tagging but yall know that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelblake/pseuds/rebelblake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people would have been shocked, or maybe scared, but Emma squealed with excitement. “You like her!” she yelled.</p><p>“I do not,” he said flatly.</p><p>“Do too,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>(not beta'd ; which is probably a bad idea but i make a lot of bad choice so just add this to the list).</p>
            </blockquote>





	courage

Bellamy wandered around the forest, blindly scanning the area for something that wasn't even there. It had been two days since Clarke, Finn, Octavia, and Monty had come back from the river, and Bellamy hadn't slept since.

 

The thought of something being out there, something that could hurt Octavia or himself was terrifying, terrifying enough to keep him awake at night. Then there was his sister's injury to deal with, and that was no walk in the park. Then again, nothing with his younger sister was ever a walk in the park.

 

“Bellamy?” Bellamy's head snapped around to find a child, not much younger than Octavia was when she was arrested. Which was only a year ago, Bellamy had to remind himself. “I - Octavia needs you,” the child said, her head bowed slightly. “Clarke sent me.”

 

Figures, Bellamy thought. Anything that ever happened - even to his own sister - Clarke always sent someone else to get him. Hell, Octavia could be _dying_ and she would still take the time to ask someone to go get Bellamy.

 

“Is she hurt?” Bellamy asked, walking up to the girl. The girl shook her head no and looked down.

 

“I - I think her leg just needs to be bandaged again, but she won't let anyone help her.” Bellamy smirked. Of course Octavia had to be difficult. She had gotten that from their mother, that much he knew. He also knew that he was the product of a quickie. His mother may not have admitted it, but he knew the truth.

 

The girl looked up, her dark lashes wet with what had to be tears. It wasn't raining, and no one had stepped into the river since the group of them had come back from it. “Bellamy?” she questioned.

 

“What's up?” he asked, bending down to meet her eye level. The girl looked down, and started breaking into silent tears, her entire body shutting down. “Hey, it's okay, you're okay.”

 

The girl continued crying. “I did something. It was so bad.” The child buried he head in her hands, sighing. “Clarke, she -”

 

The sentence was never finished, because the loud sound of what seemed to be a signal blared through the woods. Bellamy spun around, protecting the child with his body. It wasn't until the thick, yellowish-green cloud of fog was stinging at his skin that he picked the child up and started running.

 

Screams were all that he could hear, and the pain of the fog burning his skin was all that he could feel. “Bellamy! Bellamy!” The girl had her arm extended, her index finger sticking out in the direction of some kind of cave. “Look!”

 

But he didn't look, not really. He just ran. It was shelter, and that's what they needed. The place could have been filled with grounders, but he'd rather die fighting than running into some abnormal cloud of smoke.

 

When the two reached the cave, Bellamy pried the door open and closed it just as fast, enclosing him and the child in the cave. It was dark, which he had expected. What he hadn't expected was the amount of supplies that were scattered on the floor. Weapons, blankets, flashlights, and more things too.

 

“Bellamy.” Bellamy turned around, greeted by the girl, her clothes ripped up and her skin red from the fog. “It hurts.”

 

His first instinct was to grab a flashlight, and his second instinct was interrupted by the sounds of screams. To Bellamy they were just screams, but to the child they were so much more. “T-that's my friend,” she said. “His name is Axel. He - we need to let him in here.”

 

At that, Bellamy froze. “I can't open that door,” he said. “It's too late.”

 

But the girl wasn't having any of that. Even with her injured leg, she was up and opening the door before Bellamy even realized she had stood up. Next thing he knew, there was a boy - an older boy - at his feet and the sound of the girl locking the door.

 

“Hey Axel,” the girl cooed, helping the boy sit up. “Come on, Bellamy. I need some water. Got any in your pack?”

 

Bellamy was so flabbergasted that the girl ended up getting the water from his pack herself. “My name's Emma, by the way.” Emma lifted the canteen to Axel's lips and let him drink. Bellamy laid out a bed for himself, Emma, and Axel.

 

(He had a bed because he was well prepared, not because he had planned to run away in the first place.)

 

Once Axel was asleep, Emma joined Bellamy in his bed and sighed. “I did something bad,” she said, obviously hoping to finish her sentence from earlier. “Clarke didn't tell me to come find you. Octavia's fine. I was just trying to help my cutting some meat, and Clarke scared me, and I - I stabbed her."

 

Because - and only because - Bellamy Blake didn't get mad at children, he just nodded. The fog hadn't cleared, he knew that. “It's okay. Was anyone around when you - when it happened?”

 

Emma nodded and sighed. ”Lots of people,” she whispered. “Axel told me I should run before someone figured out who it was. I just hope they don't blame someone else,” she said guiltily.

 

“How old are you?” he asked, biting back a laugh at her surprised expression.

 

She swallowed. “Sixteen,” she mumbled. “And I know I look twelve so laugh it up,” she snapped.

 

Bellamy smiled at how annoyed she looked. He ruffled her hair and watched her face grow red. “Well if I get there and Clarke's not breathing, you're gonna look dead.”

 

Most people would have been shocked, or maybe scared, but Emma squealed with excitement. “ _You like her_!” she yelled.

 

“I do not,” he said flatly.

 

“Do too,” she said. “I bet you think about her eyes all the time. That's romantic. Or her lips. Do you ever think about her lips?”

 

And yeah, maybe he did think about her lips, but not in a way he thought Emma needed to know of. “Never.”

 

“Liar!” she said, pushing him. “So when were you planning to propose?”

 

“Marriage?” he breathed. “I can barely get her to look at me,” he mumbled.

 

Emma shrugged, smirking. “Don't worry, she looks at you,” she said. Bellamy gave her a confused look, and she only laughed. “She practically had a fit the other day when you were on your hunting trip,“ she said. “I remember her saying something about ‘he's going to get himself killed’ or something.”

 

Bellamy looked down and tried to hide his small smile. “So she's a worrier, so what?”

 

A loud groan came from Emma, who looked like she was about to kill him. “I'll let you sleep on it, but I expect a different answer when we wake up,” she said, yawning as she snuggled into her makeshift bed and falling asleep.

 

 

 

When morning came, Bellamy was the first to wake, and the first thing he did was check to see if the fog was gone. It was.

 

“Up 'n at 'em,” he said, throwing a small rag at Emma, who groaned and threw it right back at him, missing dramatically. “Come on, we have to go see if you're a murderer or not.”

 

At that, Emma was up. “Get up, Axel. We're going home.” Emma looked at Bellamy and smirked. “Alright, so I'll make you a deal. If I'm not a murderer, you have to tell Clarke you love her. If I'm a murderer, then I'll let you sob on her grave in peace.”

 

 

 

When the three of them got back to camp, it was thriving with chaos. People were running around with looks of panic on their faces and as soon as the gates were opened for them, he saw Emma hide behind him.

 

“Where's Clarke?” he asked Monroe, who was on watch. Monroe pointed towards the dropship and Bellamy sighed in relief. It was nice to know that she was resting, especially after what happened.

 

But when he stepped into the dropship he saw that Clarke wasn't resting, she was working. “Goddammit, Clarke,” he said, holding her hand from wrapping Miller's wrist. “Enough. You were stabbed. I'll get Miller's hand, you rest.”

 

Clarke smiled. “You're back!” she exclaimed and jumped into his arms. “God, I thought you were dead. You asshole,” she said, her arm hitting his chest a little harder than he was expecting. “Sorry, but I thought you were dead!”

 

His smile was warm. And in all honesty, he could have just stood there and smiled at her all day. But a light punch in the back from Emma reminded him of their deal.

 

Now, Bellamy was no romantic. In fact, his only definition of love was to protect. It was all he ever learned. But he did know how to make people feel better. And by the slight shaking that he felt against his back, Emma was in some serious need of some feeling better.

So, (because he was entirely set on putting a smile on Emma's face and for no other reason whatsoever,) Bellamy got down on one knee and held Clarke's hand as he spoke.

 

“Clarke Griffin. I am here to announce my enormous amout of love for you. I love you with every inch of my soul, and you don't only touch my body - I have scratch marks to prove that - but you touch my soul. I love you, Clarke Griffin, and I'm not good with words but if you show up to my tent tonight, I'll be sure to show you just how much I love you.”

 

By the time Bellamy was done, Clarke was blushing the deepest color of red Bellamy had ever seen and an applause erupted from the crowd of nosey delinquents. Emma, who had detached herself from Bellamy's back, was also clapping, giving him a wink and a thumbs up.

 

“What the hell was that?” Clarke asked, giggling.

 

Bellamy shrugged, “Let's call it courage.”

 

 

 

Only a year later, Bellamy walked into his tent, the one he shared with his wife, and embraced her. Clarke melted into the hug and placed a hand on her stomach. “Let's call her Valora. It means _courage_.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i'm a living breathing trashcan. sue me.


End file.
